


The Ghosts Live Here Rent-Free

by GreenEggsAndSpam



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Ghost Investigations, Ghosts Setting Characters Up on Dates, M/M, Oblivious Ryan Bergara, Pining, Shane Madej Being an Idiot, Shane Madej Loves Ryan Bergara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenEggsAndSpam/pseuds/GreenEggsAndSpam
Summary: College roommates Ryan and Shane have just moved into an off-campus house where the rent is cheap. Unfortunately, it turns out that's because the house is infested with spirits. And even more unfortunately, thanks to a near-death experience, Shane is the only one who can see them.Shane doesn't believe in ghosts. But they sure do believe in him. And for some reason, they all seem bent on getting him together with his roommate…
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 24
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

1046 Arch Street was an old grey townhouse sandwiched between two brand-new student apartment buildings. It had a rather bleak exterior, seeming to blend right in to the grey Chicago sky. Currently its front door was hanging open, as the first occupants it'd had in nearly eight years finished moving in.

Ryan stepped over the threshold, holding the last of his cardboard boxes. "Hey, I know we just got everything in here, but… is it too late to find somewhere else?"

Shane walked across the living room, the hardwood creaking loudly under his sneakers. "For this semester? Yeah." He glanced back at Ryan. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts."

"Oh, uh… no, it's fine," Ryan said, putting the box down and swinging the old wooden door closed behind him. "I mean, the rent is great. It's just, umm…" He trailed off, glancing briefly around the room, now cluttered with piles of their stuff. "Never mind. You'll just say it's stupid."

Shane looked around at the walls, which had been haphazardly painted two slightly different shades of beige. There was a brown moisture stain near the ceiling, but it probably wasn't serious. "I won't say it's stupid, I promise."

Ryan scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the baseboard. "Well, apparently some of the guys from Phi Beta Sigma lived here years ago, and then disappeared. People in the frat say the house is crazy haunted."

Shane gave him a long look. "That’s stupid."

Ryan huffed and put his hands on his hips. "Easy for you to say. You've never been haunted by anything in your life. You've never personally encountered the supernatural like I have."

"Your toothpaste fell over on a boat once, Ryan," Shane said, and moved into the kitchen to grab one of the beers that were the only things in the fridge so far. "This house isn't haunted, it's just old. Chicago gets cold in the winter, wood creaks, wind gets into cracks..." He sniffed. "And those frat guys were probably high off their asses for at least three quarters of the time they lived here. The scent of the ganja lingers in the walls."

Ryan ambled into the kitchen and took the beer Shane offered him. "...Well, fine. Believe whatever you want. But if the lights start flickering or some shit-"

"I'll put in a maintenance request," Shane said. Normally he would have kept ribbing his superstitious roommate about ghosts until the sun went down, but moving in had drained his energy. And, well… it seemed like Ryan was really upset about this. And that made Shane feel bad. "It'll be fine."

Ryan didn't look totally convinced, so Shane decided to change the subject. "Wanna make some popcorn and watch Jurassic Park? I need to sit down..."

"Oh, did you tire out your noodle limbs?" Ryan said, with the tone of someone who knew full well that he'd done the lion's share of the day's heavy lifting. He punched Shane on the arm, grinning at Shane’s pained groan. "If you wanna watch TV you gotta help me set it up first. I think the box with all the cables and shit is up in my room."

Both of them wandered up the stairs to the second floor, bantering back and forth as they went. 

And in the room they had just left, invisible figures stirred. 

* * *

"Well whaddaya know, looks like we got some fresh meat."

"Stop it, Legs. They seem like nice boys."

"The short one's got nice _pipes_ , that's for sure ~ "

"Francesca!"

"Now now, Miss Holly, don't you go havin' one of your lil' conniption fits. I reckon everybody's entitled to his or her own impression vees-ah-vee our new neighbors."

"...And what is your impression, Mister McClintock?"

"Me, I don't like the look of 'em. Short one's alright, but that tall sloth-lookin' feller ain't never roped a cow in his life."

"To be fair, I don't think many people at all have done that nowadays - "

There was a creak from the basement stairs, and the voices fell silent. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. They all watched, terrified into stillness, as a lone man phased through the door. 

He looked around briefly at all of them, his eyes dark beneath the brim of his hat. His expression was a scowl, baring bright white teeth. Eventually, he pursed his lips and whistled a few low, menacing notes. Then he turned and began to walk up the stairs to the second floor.

The others waited until he disappeared from view. Then the voices started up again, this time hushed and fearful. 

"...Oh dear…"

"Jesus, I wish he'd just stay down there…"

"What do you think he wants this time?"

"..."

The one known as McClintock had a grim expression. "...Well, it's Ricky," he said. "So nothing good."

* * *

Shane was leaning back on the rail overlooking the staircase when he heard it. A faint, low sound, almost like a whistle.

Ryan was standing across the hall, at the entrance to his room. "...What the fuck was that?"

Shane took a moment to listen, but the noise had stopped. He shrugged. "Wind, Ryan. Old house in the Windy City. I'm sure there's a crack in the walls somewhere."

"Yeah, but that didn't sound like wind." Ryan looked up and down the hall. Outside, it was getting dark, and the light inside the house was dim. Even so, Shane could see that there were goose bumps forming on Ryan's bare arms. "Shane, I don't like this. I'm getting a really weird feeling..."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I don't know, I just…" Ryan shivered, and wrapped his arms around himself. The floorboards creaked underneath him as he shifted his feet. "H- Hey, is it me, or… did it get really cold all of a sudden?"

"I don't feel anything," Shane said, becoming a little concerned. "Are you alright? Not getting sick, are you?"

Ryan shook his head. "No, I- I'm fine, I - " He jerked. "Oh god…! I just felt a hand on my - " 

Then he froze, his voice choked off. His eyes widened, staring in terror at the empty air.

"...A hand on your what, Ryan?" Shane waited for him to break out into laughter and give up the joke, but it never happened. "Ryan?"

Ryan was frozen for a few moments more, his fingers and shoulders twitching. Then his whole body shuddered and started to move, taking a halting step.

"...Ryan!" Shane reached out towards him. "What's wrong?"

Ryan lurched suddenly forward, pinning him against the railing. Shane struggled, but Ryan was just too strong for him. Shane's back bent out over the rail, and his voice rose with panic. "Hey, what are you doing?! This isn't funny, man! I'm gonna fall!"

Ryan’s grip on his shoulders tightened, and his eyes slowly rolled back until they showed only whites. His mouth opened, and he started to speak in a low, rasping voice. "...Aw...ful… close… to the… edge… there…" The corners of his mouth curled upwards into a horrible grin. "Tins…ley..."

Then, with a burst of strength, he pushed Shane back and over the railing.

* * *

When Shane was finally released from the hospital, he found Ryan sitting on the doorstep of the townhouse, waiting for him. "...Hey," Ryan said, getting to his feet. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks," Shane said, scratching lightly where the neck brace met his skin. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"I find that hard to believe, actually," Ryan said, opening the door for him. "Since you fucking _died_."

"For all of two seconds," Shane said, flopping onto the couch. "Didn't even smell any sulfur or anything." Seeing Ryan’s concerned look, he sighed, and his tone softened. "I'm fine, okay? Just got a little knock on the noggin. It was only a one-story fall."

"Oh yeah, only one story," Ryan said, rolling his eyes. He went to the kitchen and returned with a bag of Fritos, which he handed to Shane before sitting down next to him on the couch. "...Do you remember what happened?" he asked, a little hesitantly.

Shane shook his head, winced, then popped a few of the chips into his mouth. "Nope. Total blank. Head injuries will do that to you." He looked to Ryan. "Do you? Know what happened, I mean."

Ryan rubbed his forehead. "...No. Everything before the ambulance is a blur. I must have been drunker than I thought…" He looked away, then swallowed. "...Man, I'm so sorry! I can't help feeling like it was my fault somehow…"

"Hey now," Shane said, rushing to dispel that thought. "You know that's not true! It was an accident. And I'm fine. I mean, I'm still gonna live here."

Ryan nodded, and smiled a little. "...Right. Yeah. Maybe just stay away from the banisters."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Shane said with a laugh. 

"I don't know, you are kind of a stubborn idiot," Ryan said, and got up from the couch. "I gotta take a piss. Think you can manage to avoid hurting yourself?"

"No promises," Shane said, watching Ryan’s back as he disappeared up the stairs. Even though his experience with this house so far hadn't been great, it was nice to be back; nice to see his roommate and his energetic smile again. 

He blinked, catching himself. The truth was, over the two years he'd been rooming with Ryan, he'd started to find himself enjoying that smile just a little bit too much. If it was anyone else he'd admit that he was developing a crush, but… well, Ryan was a bro's bro, as it were, and Shane didn't want to ruin their friendship. So he made sure to quash any disruptive thoughts he might have about things like smiles or biceps before they had the chance to get out of hand.

Crunching on Fritos while he waited for Ryan to come back, he pulled out his phone and started absent-mindedly scrolling through his Twitter feed. He looked up a few seconds later and nearly jumped out of his skin. 

There was suddenly an unfamiliar woman in the room.

She stood a few feet away from the couch, looking at him with a vague expression of surprise. She had white-blonde hair and grey eyes, and was wearing a stiff, dark grey, Victorian-looking dress, buttoned all the way up to her chin.

Shane stared back at her for a few seconds before the shock wore off. "...Um. Nice costume?"

The woman blinked. "...You can see me?" She smoothed her skirt a little self-consciously. 

Shane slowly put down the bag of chips. "...I'm sorry, who are you? Did … did Ryan invite you over?"

The woman ignored him and turned her head towards the kitchen. "Mr. McClintock! He can _see_ me!"

Shane was about to ask who in the fresh hell Mr. McClintock was when a gloved hand thrust itself straight through the solid kitchen wall. 

The rest of the body followed soon after; it was a man, around six feet tall with a short greying beard, dressed in a duster and a black Stetson cowboy hat. Underneath the brim, his right eye was covered by a bloodied strip of cloth. He stepped through the wall like it was nothing, as if walking through an open door, and grinned down at Shane. "We-ell," he drawled. "Ain't that _interesting_."

Shane jumped up from the couch, scattering the bag of chips across the floor. "Shit…" he muttered, pressing a hand to his head. "I'm fucking hallucinating…!"

McClintock let out a hearty laugh. "Wish you were, son." He tipped his hat. "Unfortunately, you're looking at the restless spirits bound forever to wander the halls of this house."

"Okay, but no, no I'm not," Shane said. "See, ghosts aren't real. Obviously. And I just hit my head, of _course_ I'm hallucinating." He probably shouldn't be talking to them, now that he thought about it. But the doctor had told him he hadn't suffered any brain damage, so why…?

He heard muffled footsteps coming down the stairs, and soon Ryan reappeared, raising his eyebrows at him. "Who were you talking to?"

"Uh, I wasn't… I mean, nobody," Shane said. He looked back and forth between the two hallucinations; it didn't appear that Ryan could see them. Which made sense, since they were hallucinations. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

Ryan started towards the kitchen, and walked straight through McClintock, who coughed violently. A puff of grey smoke appeared in the air around him, and Ryan sniffed. "Is something burning? It smells like something's burning."

"It's gunsmoke," said McClintock as his coughing subsided. "Damn city-slickers..."

Shane was trying to figure out how somebody else could smell his hallucinations. His hallucinations were supposed to be in his own brain. Did hallucinations even smell? It didn't make any sense. His head was pounding. "I… I think I need to lie down," he said weakly.

Ryan looked at him with concern. "Hey, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yep," Shane said, lurching past the woman hallucination and towards the stairs, up to his bedroom. "I'm fine, I… I just need some sleep, I think…" He grasped the doorknob and turned. "My head's, you know, kinda spinning a little bit, but it's fine, it's…"

He froze. 

Inside the darkened room was a woman in a short black dress and black satin gloves. She was smoking a cigarette through a long cigarette holder, and she looked up at him from underneath the brim of a black cloche hat. "...Oh, hello," she cooed, and sat up straight. 

Her head promptly toppled off her shoulders and onto the bed. Shane stared in open-mouthed horror.

"Oops!" the decapitated head said, smiling at him while the body's gloved hands patted blindly at the sheets. "Silly me! Hope I didn't give you a shock."

"...Uhhhnn, no worries!" Shane said, swaying slightly. There was a manic smile plastered on his face. "I'm un- un- unshockable. Takes a lot more than that to, to get to… the Shanester… I'm... I'm ghost-proof, baby!"

He heard Ryan on the stair behind him say, "Dude, there's nobody in there." And about a second after that, he fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter of what is going to be a very silly fic! 
> 
> I do have to say that the basic concept was shamelessly stolen from the BBC series "Ghosts" (which you should definitely check out, btw, if you haven't seen it). 
> 
> Stay tuned to meet more of the ghosts - sorry, hallucinations - next time!


	2. Chapter 2

When Shane woke up, he was back at the hospital. Ryan had apparently brought him in while he was unconscious, which he knew because he opened his eyes to the younger man passed out in the chair next to his bed. It took some urging from Shane to get Ryan to go home; he was fine, he'd just pushed himself a little too hard, wouldn't want Ryan to fall asleep in his classes and make a fool of himself. It sent a flutter of appreciation through Shane to see that he'd stayed, but he didn't want Ryan to know he was seeing things. It might spook him.

It was certainly starting to spook Shane, no matter how much he might try to deny it.

His doctor mostly just frowned and shook his head in confusion while Shane described his symptoms. He said Shane’s brain scans were still fine. He said he didn't know what could possibly be causing these kinds of visual and auditory hallucinations. He felt it was too early to prescribe any serious anti-psychotics, but he could give Shane something to calm his nerves. Shane's nerves wouldn't usually need calming, but this time he accepted the offer.

When he got back to the house, Ryan had gone to class, and Shane's room was once again empty of headless flapper girls. Deeply relieved and too tired to do anything else, he popped the pills the doctor had sent him home with and collapsed onto the bed.

Less than an hour later, he awoke to the sound of cabinets slamming downstairs.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, his shoulders tensing. His immediate thought was that they were being robbed, and he glanced hurriedly around his room for anything he could use to defend himself. Seeing nothing but a few tubes of chapstick, he snuck over to Ryan’s room and clumsily unsheathed his katana, holding it like a baseball bat as he padded down the stairs towards the kitchen.

When he reached the living room, he saw the woman in the grey Victorian dress again. This time she was sitting on the couch, her skirts tucked neatly around her, her hands folded on her lap. She looked up when Shane came down the stairs. "That sword looks dangerous."

Shane decided not to acknowledge her, just to file her appearance away as something to tell the doctor about when he went back for those anti-psychotics. He heard the cabinets slam again, and stood at the entrance to the kitchen, catching his breath.

"...Oh, you don't need to worry about that," the woman said. "It's only those two roughnecks trying to kill each other again. They're dead, they can't hurt you."

Despite himself, Shane turned to give the woman a questioning glance. In response, she shrugged and raised her eyebrows, tilting her head towards the kitchen. Shane slowly peeked his head around the corner, katana raised as if he had any idea how to use it.

Inside the kitchen were two men dressed in suits and hats, one in black, the other in grey. The one in grey was thin and weaselly and was currently having his head slammed into the counter by the one in black, who was built like a brick shithouse. The most notable thing about both of them was that their torsos were riddled with bullet holes, making their chests look like swiss cheese.

Shane let the katana fall to his side. Not burglars; just more hallucinations. Great.

The man in grey squirmed, banging the palm of his hand against the counter. "Uncle, uncle!" he cried, in the thickest Chicago accent Shane had ever heard. "C'mon, let me up, you fuckin' meathead!"

"Take back what you said about my _nonna_ , Legs," the man in black said, pressing more of his weight onto his hapless victim.

'Legs' squirmed, but failed to break free. "Fine, fine, I take it back," he said. "Now get offa me!"

At that, the man in black straightened and backed away, letting the man in grey peel himself off the counter. Legs smoothed down his bloodied suit jacket and grinned. "...Actually, Night Night, I always thought your _nonna's_ beard made her look very handsome."

'Night Night' drew back his fist.

"Stop it, both of you!"

The two men froze, staring at a spot to Shane's left. He turned just in time to see the woman phase through the wall and step into the kitchen, her hands on her hips.

Night Night dropped his fist. "Sorry, Miss Holly."

"Mornin', toots," Legs said, but quickly wilted under the glare he received in return.

"Behave," the woman said, narrowing her eyes. She gestured to Shane. "He can see us, you know! And I believe he was trying to get some sleep."

Shane took a small step back as both of the men turned to stare at him. Even though he knew they weren't real, that they were just visions cooked up by his misfiring neurons, the way their chests were torn open like that was... disconcerting. 

"He can see us?" Legs stepped towards Shane and waved a hand in his face. When Shane instinctively tried to swat it away, his fingers passed right through, dispersing the hand like mist and making Legs recoil in pain.

Night Night grinned. "Guess so."

"Jesus," Legs whined, his hand slowly forming back into its original shape. "Hey, watch where you're waving those meat sticks, buster! That hurt like a sonnuva-"

"Language!" the woman said, and made a 'shoo'-ing motion with her hands. "Now go on, both of you. You're scaring him."

"I am _not_ scared," Shane chimed in, going against his decision not to talk to them but feeling compelled to clarify. "I don't get scared, okay? Especially not by a couple of zoot suits vomited up by my broken brain." He gave a strained laugh. "...I must be pretty unimaginative when it comes to thinking up mobsters, I guess. I mean, what kind of a nickname is 'Night Night?'"

Night Night scowled at him, his eyes mostly hidden by the low brim of his hat. "If I was still alive," he said, "you'd find out."

The woman cleared her throat reproachfully. Night Night glowered for a few moments more, but eventually shrugged and trundled out of the kitchen, Legs trailing behind him. Shane could just barely hear Legs call him a "kook" as the pair of them disappeared through the back wall.

That left Shane alone in the kitchen with the woman, who seemed to be waiting for him to say something. He wouldn't do it. He laid the katana down on the counter and started searching the cabinets, trying to remember where he'd put the coffee filters. 

"...Ahem."

Shane shoved his hand towards the back of the cabinet, brushing aside a few cans of ravioli. Not back there…

"...Excuse me."

He slammed the cabinet closed and moved on to the next one. Why the fuck did they have so many cans of ravioli?

"Young man..."

Shane felt a slight chill on his shoulder, and heard the woman behind him suck in a breath as her hand passed through him. He whirled around. "It's Shane," he said, stiffly. "And you're a hallucination, so I'm not talking to you. No offense." He threw up his hands in something approaching desperation. "I'm just trying to keep from going any more crazy than I already am, okay?"

The woman drew back, biting her lip. "...I would have thought you'd seen enough to be convinced by now," she said. "We are not figments of your imagination, Shane. We're ghosts. We've lived in this house for years, all of us. And you're the first living person who's been able to see us." When Shane didn't respond, she gave a quiet huff. "My name is Holly Horsley. Should you ever feel inclined to accept my existence."

Shane didn't think he would.

Holly smoothed her skirt. "...Well, either way, I suppose you should know who's here with you. There's me, of course, and Banjo McClintock, that big ham you met last night. Francesca Norris was the girl you saw in your room; I've asked her to sleep elsewhere, so it shouldn't happen again. Then of course there's Night Night and Legs, and… who am I missing? … Oh, the lighthouse men. They mostly keep to themselves, up in the attic." She paused briefly, then nodded. "...Yes, that's everyone. If any of the others bother you, let me know. They are troublemakers, but they're harmless. ...Well, most of them, anyway. Good morning."

She turned and started to phase back through the wall to the living room, but this time Shane spoke up. "Wait. Most of them…?"

Holly looked back at him over her shoulder, her head and her bustle being the only parts of her still visible on this side of the wall. Her expression seemed strangely… fearful. "Just stay away from the basement," she said quietly, then disappeared.

Shane stood still for a few moments more, but after that pronouncement, it seemed like he was alone again. He sighed and leaned back on the counter, rubbing his eyes. His head ached. "What is happening to me…?" he murmured.

He heard the 'click' of the front door unlocking, and the sound of real footsteps entering the living room. His heart leaped. "...Ryan?"

"Yeah?" A few seconds later Ryan ambled into the kitchen, his backpack still slung over his shoulder. He looked over at Shane, then behind him to where the katana still lay on the counter. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "I was gonna ask if you're feeling any better, but you look like crap and you've got a sword, so..."

"I heard noises down here and thought it was some kind of home-invasion situation," Shane said, which was true. "Must've just been a… a raccoon or something..." 

Before he could think to stop himself, he reached out and touched Ryan on the arm. He was solid and warm and - thank god - a real person. Shane was so happy to see him he could cry.

Ryan gave him a questioning look, though, and he realized he’d overstepped. He quickly transformed the touch into what he hoped was a casual pat and leaned back on the counter, shoving his hands into his pockets while his cheeks burned. "Um. So how was class?"

Ryan sighed, dumping his backpack on the counter. "I've got Cramblish for Film Theory, and he's already busting my ass. It's not my fault I didn't do the stupid reading, I haven't even gotten my book yet…"

Shane indulged in a knowing smirk. "Let me guess. Some frat bro you ran into at a kegger once promised to give you his old copy as soon as he's done using it as a coaster for his Bud Lite."

Ryan spread his hands. "Hey, you're just jealous you don't have the connections to avoid shelling out for those bookstore prices."

"I may not have your 'connections' but I do have my books," Shane countered, feeling relieved. Bantering with Ryan… this was normal. This was fine. He was fine. Maybe the hallucinations would just go away…

Through the back door, a pair of eyes was watching him. 

* * *

The body of Francesca Norris sat cross-legged on the other side, holding her head up to the door. Eventually she drew it back and placed it on top of her shoulders, a smile spreading across her face. She giggled quietly to herself, then stood up and rushed down the hall past the kitchen, into the living room. "Holly! Hollyyyyy ~ !"

Holly, Banjo, Legs, and Night Night were all gathered around the coffee table, the two mobsters splayed across the couch and Banjo sunken into the worn recliner. Holly stood with her hands on her hips. "Francesca, don't tell me you were spying on those boys."

"...Maaaybe," Francesca said, twirling a strand of dark hair. "But Holly, guess what!" She beamed. "They're in _love!_ "

She looked around the room expectantly. The rest of the ghosts looked back at her. Holly raised her eyebrows. "...Are they?"

"...Well, the tall one is, anyway," Francesca said, clasping her hands. "He lit right up as soon as the short one walked into the room! And that touch on the arm was so _yearning-_ ack!" She waved her arms and accidentally knocked her head off her shoulders. "...Oh, but it really was just the cutest thing," she said, her head rolling slightly on the floor.

Holly sighed and walked over to her, picking up the head and putting it back in place. "Their names are Shane and Ryan," she said, "and frankly I don't think it's any of our business."

"I'd say _all_ business in this house is our business," Banjo said. He rose slowly from the recliner. "Shane and Ryan, eh? Well, good on 'em. Always nice to see the young folks figurin' out what makes 'em happy, while they can."

The living room lapsed into silence. Micro-expressions of sadness or regret flitted across the ghosts’ faces, including Holly’s. “...Yes, I suppose so,” she said.

Francesca pouted and batted her eyelashes. “...I’m sorry for spying,” she said. “I won’t do it again.”

Holly sighed, softening a little. “Well, perhaps there’s no harm done. As long as no one bothers them about it...” 

Ryan walked out of the kitchen and headed upstairs, with Shane following a short distance after him. Shane stopped and stared when he saw the ghosts, though, the smile on his face evaporating immediately.

Legs and Night Night dangled over the back of the couch, grinning at him with shit-eating expressions. “Shane and Ryan, sittin’ in a tree ~,” they crowed, in almost perfect unison. “K - I - S -”

“Shut up!” Holly shrieked, rushing forward and planting their faces into the couch while Banjo stood in the corner and cackled. “ _Shut up!!!_ You too, McClintock!” She looked up at Shane. “I apologize, they really are utter _children_ …!” 

Shane took a step back, gripping onto the banister behind him and looking up the stairs to make sure Ryan was gone. "...I have no idea where the fuck this is coming from, but Ryan and I are not a couple," he hissed. "We're just roommates."

Francesca stared at him open-mouthed. "No way, mister, you can't fool me!" she said, pointing accusingly. "I saw how you were looking at him!"

Shane sputtered, blotches of red appearing on his cheeks. "He- I- I was looking at him like a _roommate_! Like… like a friend who I enjoy being around! Platonically!"

Legs extricated his face from the couch cushions. "Oh, so you make big goo-goo eyes at all your friends?" 

“Platonically,” Night Night said, grinning.

Shane swallowed, darting another glance towards the stairs. "L- Look, I guess you people are all in my head, so… fine, maybe I like him. Maybe… maybe a lot, I don’t know, I don’t think about it. Because it wouldn't work, okay? He wouldn’t feel the same." He looked away. "And this is my senior year. In a couple of months I'll be gone and it won't matter anyway... I don't wanna mess with what we've got." 

Francesca clasped her hands in front of her. "But-"

"That’s it, that's all there is to it," Shane said, whirling and heading up the stairs. "Now get out of my head and leave me alone!"

The ghosts watched him disappear up the stairs, then heard a door slam. Holly sighed. "...Alright, I think we all know what we need to do now. We need to-"

"Get him together with his roommate."

"-leave him alone," Holly finished, then whirled on Francesca. "Leave him alone! Did you not hear what the man just said?"

"I did!" said Francesca, crossing her arms. "Did you? He said he only has one year left with Ryan, and he's not even going to tell him how he feels! That's _awful_!"

"Perhaps, but it's his choice," Holly said, "and it's not our place to interfere!"

"It's a terrible choice," Night Night said, leaning forward on the couch. "Real bad."

Legs nodded, looking somewhat serious for once. "Yeah, I mean, we're all ghosts here. That shit's got 'unfinished business' written all over it."

"...Maybe so," Holly said, biting her lip. "But..."

From the corner of the room came the sound of someone clearing their throat. The ghosts turned to look.

Banjo stepped forward, the brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes. He spoke in a deep, measured voice. "In 1867, there was a man by the name of Watts who moved out west and became a farmer."

Holly’s brow furrowed. "...Fascinating," she said, "but unrelated to what we were talking abou-"

"Back in those times, many farmers had a low opinion of us cowfolk," Banjo continued, undeterred, "and Watts was no different. Told me he never wanted to see me within fifty feet of his property. Well, fine, I didn't take no offense by it. Just one problem, though: Watts was a natural-born idiot. Built shoddy fences that let his animals run all over."

He looked right at Holly. "So let's say I was to rope a few of his cows for him whenever I'd see 'em wanderin' around on the range, get 'em headed back in the right direction. The man never knew what I was up to so there was no harm in it."

The other ghosts were looking at Holly now, too, watching the struggle play out on her face. "...I think I see what you're driving at, Mr. McClintock," she said slowly.

Banjo raised his eyebrows. "Small things, Miss Holly," he said. "A nudge here, perhaps. A whisper there. Get those cows turned around towards the right direction; where they go after that's their own business. The man need never know."

Holly looked torn, glancing around the room. The other ghosts watched her expectantly, with bated breath. Finally, she sighed. "...Alright. Fine. You can do as you please." She wagged a finger. "But I refuse to participate in whatever antics I know you're scheming up."

Banjo grinned and tipped his hat. "Fair enough, ma'am."

Holly nodded, then turned and walked out of the room, disappearing into the kitchen.

Francesca squealed and latched onto Banjo's shoulders. "Aww, Banjo, you big softie! Thank you!"

Banjo gave a strained laugh and slowly disentangled the small woman from his frame. "Don't mention it, lil' missy." He caught her head as it slipped off and wedged it firmly back on her shoulders. "You were right, that boy's got it bad. Probably worse'n he realizes. Somethin’ oughtta be done."

Francesca hopped down to the floor and looked up at him. "By the way, whatever happened to Mister Watts?" 

"Hm? Oh, I don't know," Banjo said, and winked. "Made 'im up just now."

* * *

Shane spent most of the rest of the evening in his room, catching up on the work from the first classes he'd missed. He'd called the doctor but hadn't been able to secure another appointment until next week, so he'd just have to deal with the hallucinations for now. He could sometimes hear them talking downstairs or passing by his room, but thankfully he never saw them.

Now that he knew about Night Night and Legs he barely even noticed when the kitchen cabinets started slamming again sometime around ten. So he was surprised to see Ryan knock and peer around the edge of his door, a scared expression on his face. "Dude, do you hear that?"

"Huh?"

Ryan waved his hands for Shane to hush, his eyes wandering towards the direction of the stairs. Sure enough, there was a wooden thump and the muffled voice of Legs screaming some creative curses. Shane tried to keep his expression neutral. "...It's probably just the wind."

"No way, man!" Ryan hissed, frustration with Shane briefly overriding his fear. "The wind is not that strong. Actually slamming the cabinets? That's a fuckin' poltergeist, dude! Some serious grade-A ghost shit!"

"The house is not haunted, Ryan!" Shane burst out, a little desperately.

"It is too!" Ryan shot back. "It's haunted as fuck!" He paused for a moment as a drawer slammed downstairs, the whites of his eyes showing in the dark. "...And I'm gonna prove it." 

Shane blinked. "What? How?"

"You'll see," Ryan said mysteriously, then headed back to his own room before Shane could get another word in.

Shane turned back to his homework and let out a long breath as the cabinets slammed again downstairs. 

He was starting to get the sinking feeling that this was just gonna be his life now. He wished he could at least know what the fuck was happening in it.


	3. Chapter 3

Shane was sitting in the living room playing video games a few days later when the Amazon delivery man dropped off three large packages, all addressed to Ryan.

Banjo McClintock popped into the room as Shane was powering down the Playstation. "D'you mind leavin' the tee-vee on? Reckon it's about time for  _ Wagon Train _ ..." 

"No way, it's time for our soaps!" shouted Legs, bursting through the kitchen door with Night Night on his heels. "I gotta find out if that broad Rebecca's cheatin' on Dan!"

"She would never!" Night Night insisted.

Shane walked over to the TV stand and picked up a quarter, which had been left there for this specific purpose. He flipped it. "Heads. Guess it's time for  _ Wagon Train _ ." He ignored the protests behind him as he clicked through the channels.

His hallucinations hadn't gone away, but he was slowly getting used to them. Despite being … strange … they mostly just acted like people. And though they weren't great about respecting his personal space, it was a lot easier to deal with them now that his classes had him out of the house for most of the day.

It was a lot like having extra roommates. He hadn't asked for them, and they weren't paying any rent, but otherwise it was pretty much the same.

He headed to the front door and brought Ryan’s packages inside. He raised his voice over the swelling Western music coming from the TV. "Ryan! You got a delivery!"

"Oh, sweet!" Ryan came thumping down the stairs, then jogged over to Shane and grabbed one of the boxes. "My ghost-hunting stuff's here!"

The three "ghosts" in the room all paused their TV-watching to look at Ryan. "Ghost… huntin'?" Banjo repeated, a little incredulously. "What in the Sam Hill…?"

"Yeah, uh, what?" Shane said, watching as Ryan tore through the packing tape with his bare hands. "What do you mean, 'ghost-hunting stuff?'"

"I mean stuff for ghost-hunting," Ryan said, setting aside some bubble wrap and gingerly lifting up a strange black box. "I told you this house is haunted, man. It's got the whole freaking package - cold spots, stuff moving around on its own… I even heard some creepy little girl singing last night."

Legs hopped up from the couch and wandered over to poke ineffectually at the bubble wrap. "Wish Francesca would stop doin' that fuckin' baby voice, she's what, twenty-two?"

"More like a hundred," Night Night said, trundling over to join him. "Thinks she's Betty Boop or somethin'." He pressed a thick finger on one of the plastic bubbles, and it popped.

Ryan shot about ten feet into the air. "Shane! Was that you?!"

"Um…" Shane held up his hands. "Yeah, you got me. I did it so fast you, uh, couldn't see it."

Ryan scowled at him. "Dude, quit messing around." He held tightly to the black box in his hands. "I almost dropped the spirit box."

"...The what?"

"The spirit box. Stop making me repeat myself." Ryan started to fiddle around with the buttons and dials on the front of the box, unaware that Legs, Night Night, and now Banjo were watching him with interest. "It's a device for communicating with ghosts. Check this out."

He flicked a switch, and a loud burst of static filled the room, making everyone in it jump and cover their ears. "IT'S FLIPPING THROUGH RADIO FREQUENCIES," Ryan said over the din. "IF WE HEAR A VOICE SAY MORE THAN ONE OR TWO WORDS, THAT MEANS A GHOST IS TRYING TO TALK TO US!"

"Jesus fucking christ!" Legs groaned, reeling away from the box. "My ears… My ears are bleeding! Oh gawd make it stop!"

Banjo gritted his teeth, his hat brim pulled down over his ears. "How in tarnation is anyone supposed to 'communicate' over that goddamn racket?!"

"I think I'm passing on," Night Night muttered, crawling away from the blast zone on his hands and knees. " _ Nonna _ , is that you...?"

"DID YOU HEAR THAT?" Shane asked, curious despite himself.

Ryan blinked. "...HUH?! WHAT DID YOU HEAR, SHANE?!"

_...Ah, okay.  _ Shane grinned. "IT SOUNDED LIKE BULLSHIT!"

Ryan frowned and turned the spirit box off. "Disbelieve all you want, but this thing’s the real deal. Bona-fide professional ghost-hunting equipment."

"That must'a set you back a bit," Shane said, twisting a finger in his ear. 

"It's okay, I budgeted it out. Just gotta eat nothing but ramen for the next three months."

"Jesus, Ryan. What's got you so set on this?"

"Well, if I get definitive proof of ghosts in the house, I figure I can negotiate our rent down even further," Ryan said, grinning. "For real, though... it's pretty scary to think that there are spirits haunting this place, but it's also kind of exciting. I mean, it'd be pretty fucking cool if I was the one to prove once and for all that ghosts are real." 

"Exciting? Cool?" Shane smirked, rolling his eyes. "You're talking an awfully big game for someone who's going to be pooping his pants with fear as soon as the sun goes down."

Ryan shrugged. "Hey, maybe I'm masochistic. Maybe I just love to suffer. Who knows." He carefully put the spirit box down and started opening the rest of the cardboard boxes. "Just because I get scared doesn't mean I can't handle a little haunting. As long as the ghosts don't actively try to kill me or anything I think I'll be okay."

Shane snorted, casting a side glance at Banjo, Night Night, and Legs, who were in the process of retreating to the kitchen. The ghosts in this house weren't nearly competent enough to pull off something like that. ...Assuming they were real, of course, which they weren't. Despite himself, though, his thoughts strayed to the cryptic warning Holly had given him a few days ago, about how not all of them were harmless… "Eh, just stay away from the basement, then."

Ryan froze. "...Why?" he said slowly. "What's in the basement?"

"Nothing," Shane said quickly. It was probably true, anyway. "Welp, I better run, got class in a few." He grabbed his backpack and headed for the door. "Have fun damaging your eardrums with that thing!"

"What's in the basement, Shane?!" Ryan shouted after him, his voice rising with fear. 

But Shane was already out the door.

* * *

In the kitchen, the ghosts were gathered in a rough circle.

"Strange as it is, this ghost-hunting nonsense could work to our advantage," Banjo said, stroking his short beard. "Fear can be a powerful aphrodisiac. Just like takin' your lady out for a late-night ride so when the wolves start howlin' she'll cuddle up real close in the saddle an' wrap her arms 'round your chest..."

"Afraid I can't relate," Holly said dryly.

Banjo raised his eyebrows at her. "Now, Miss Holly, this is a strategy meetin' for our little matchmaking project. As I recall you weren't going to participate."

"No," Holly said, glancing briefly to the side. "I'm just here to observe. Someone needs to make sure this thing doesn't get out of hand."

Banjo shrugged but didn't comment. "Now since we ghosts can't do a lot of things I'd like to briefly go over everybody's little skill sets, see what we have to work with here." He raised a hand. "I'll start. When living folks walk through me, they start smellin' gunsmoke. Like that, see?"

Night Night hesitantly lifted his hand. "...I can move things, I guess."

"Yeah, but only when you're wailin' on me," Legs grumbled.

Francesca's hand shot into the air. "Ooh! Ooh! Sometimes living people can hear me singing!" she said. "And Holly makes cold spots."

"I'm not participating!”

"One o' the lighthouse keepers can flicker the lamps, as I recall," Banjo said, quickly counting on his fingers. "Right, I think that's everybody."

Francesca's hand went up again. "What about Ricky?"

The kitchen fell silent. Banjo eventually sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "...I wasn't exactly planning on inviting him to join us."

"I know that," Francesca said, a little quietly. "What are we gonna do if he comes up here again?"

The other ghosts cast quick nervous glances among each other. "I don't expect that he will," Banjo said, in an attempt to reassure them. "He’s spent himself. Possessing a living person’s hard to do, even for him. He'll be asleep down there for a good long while."

"I certainly hope you're right," Holly said. She glanced quickly towards the door. “...Don’t you think we ought to tell Shane about him?”

“Nah,” Banjo said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seems like he don’t remember meeting our malevolent basement-dweller anyhow. No need to worry the boy.”

“Right. Of course.” Holly looked a little unsure. She sighed. “I suppose he has worries enough as it is.”

* * *

Shane slid behind the third desk from the back of an empty classroom. He was a couple minutes early, but it was kind of odd that literally no one else was here yet. 

...Oh well. If no one showed up in fifteen minutes, he'd check and see if maybe class got cancelled. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He didn't usually need a lot of sleep, but with the ghosts - hallucinations, he corrected himself - waking him up at odd hours, he felt like he was always tired.

"...Boy, he looks rough for only the first week. What is this, the science building? Ha ha."

Shane's eyes snapped open. He hadn't heard anyone enter the room, which was troubling.

In front of him stood a short, chubby older man with a fuzzy electric-blue beard and hair. He wore a Panama hat, Coke-bottle glasses, a red bow tie, and … no pants. Luckily everything was covered by the untucked tails of his shirt, but Shane had honestly hoped to go his whole life without seeing that much exposed old-man leg.

The man seemed truly shocked when he noticed Shane looking at him, and Shane's heart sank. "...Let me guess," he said. "You're not Professor Metzger."

"Oh, sorry, no," the man said. "'German Film in its Social Context,' right? Yeah, that starts at three. You're an hour early."

Shane groaned and flopped over the desk, ignoring the man as he started rambling about how exciting it was that Shane could see him. He'd been in such a rush to leave the house earlier, he must have gotten his schedule all screwed up.

...Well, he had nowhere else to be. Might as well get some work done while he was here. He stayed flopped over the desk for a few moments more, to savor it, then sat up and reached into his backpack for his notes and a textbook.

Eventually the man started leaning over his shoulder and Shane could ignore him no more. "...Mind giving me a little space?" 

The man stepped back. "Oh, ha ha, sorry! I guess I kinda forgot about boundaries. Being dead for forty years'll do that to ya." He cleared his throat. "You seem awfully calm about this."

"Yeah, well, you're not the first ghost I've seen," Shane said, then caught himself. "Hallucination. You're a hallucination."

"Huh. Well, okay." The man leaned forward again despite himself. "Are you a History major? I'm actually a History professor myself. Err, I mean, I  _ was _ . Technically I don't think I'm still on the faculty, but I've got tenure… Anyway, I wrote that book, so I could help you out some, if you want."

Shane flipped the book closed to look at the cover, which read "Singular Figures and Events in World History." It was a used, older edition, and the author's name was worn off. He looked up at the man. "Uh, I'm good, thanks."

"Oh… Oh, alright then. I see." The professor looked immediately crestfallen, hunching his shoulders and curling in on himself. "Yeah, that's fine. I mean, it's not like I haven't had a student to talk to in forty years or anything. Wouldn't want to disturb."

Shane looked briefly around the empty classroom. He guessed it would suck to be a ghost, stuck in one place and not being able to interact with anybody. ...Of course, ghosts weren't real. But this not-real ghost looked really sad. He gave in. "Okay, the truth is I didn't do this reading. So if you could maybe just summarize the chapter for me?"

"Oh-ho, so you're a  _ slacker _ ," the professor chided, though he brightened immediately. In fact, he got so excited that his glasses briefly dislodged from his nose. "Well, don't think I'm going to go easy on you just because you're not earning credit for this! You're on New Kingdom Egypt, right? How much do you know about Hatshepsut?"

Shane began dredging his memory for ancient Egyptian history factoids and inwardly sighed. So he was doing pity favors for ghosts now, too.

...Hallucinations. Not ghosts. Because ghosts weren't real.

For whatever reason, he seemed to be forgetting that a lot lately.

* * *

The ghosts at 1046 Arch Street were still gathered in the kitchen when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Soon Ryan walked into the room, his nose in an open book. The ghosts parted for him as he set the book down on the counter and pulled a bag of chips down from the cabinets. 

When Ryan moved away from the counter, the ghosts crowded around the book. "...'Ghosts, Auras, and Other Spiritual Energies?'" Legs read, raising his eyebrows. "This is some dopey shit."

"I don't think you're one to knock it," Night Night said, "seeing as you're a ghost and everything."

Legs scoffed. "Hey, just 'cause I'm a ghost doesn't mean I hafta believe in this kinda hippy-dippy hokum. I mean, come on. If you think burning some incense is gonna get you a direct line to Napoleon or whatever, then I've got a bridge to sell ya."

" _ Nonna  _ was always in touch wit' our dead relatives," Night Night said, his voice taking on a warning note as his shoulders tensed. "She had the vision."

Legs grinned. "Oh, so she was dropped on her head, too? That makes a lot of sense now that I think about it-" 

Night Night leapt forward and tackled Legs, slamming him into the wall. As he flew past the open book, the pages fluttered, and across the room Ryan shrieked.

The ghosts froze, watching the young man's eyes widen as he glanced blindly around the room. "...Hello?" he asked, gripping the bag of chips with white knuckles. "I- Is there someone here with me?"

"Now look what you've done," Holly hissed, glaring at the two mobsters. "The poor boy's frightened out of his wits-"

Ryan cut her off by stumbling right through her, only pausing to shiver before making his way to the counter where the book lay open. He turned back briefly to address the air. "A- Are you trying to send me a message? Is there something important on this page?"

"I don't fuckin' know but I hope it's something funny," Legs said, scrambling to get out from under Night Night's torso. "Is it something funny? I can't see."

Banjo loomed over Ryan’s shoulder. "Well, I'll be," he said. "It says-"

"'Conducting Seances,'" Ryan read aloud, then straightened with a gasp. "Seances… Will you be able to talk to me if I hold a seance?"

"Oh, those are fun!" Francesca said. "I remember when that lady and her friends came and did one in twenty-eight. Everybody was sitting in a circle around a bunch of candles, chanting weird stuff and holding hands. They seemed like they were having a good time!"

"Woah there." Banjo took a step away from Ryan, a grin slowly forming on his face. "Did you say … candles?  _ Holding hands?" _

The ghosts all turned to look at Banjo, then to Ryan, their eyes alight with anticipation. "...Not going to happen," Holly said. "There are too many variables. He might not even decide to do it at all, let alone think to invite his roommate."

Night Night trudged over to the counter and gave the corner of the 'Conducting Seances' page a tug. 

Ryan saw it and blanched, jumping away from the book. "Okay… okay," he mumbled. "So… the ghost wants me to hold a seance. Okay. Holy fuck." He backed up even further, his hands shaking slightly. He swallowed, and stood still for a few seconds.

Then he pumped his fists in the air. "I  _ fucking _ knew it!" he shouted. He pulled his phone from his pocket and started texting, speaking the words to himself as his thumbs tapped away at the keyboard. "Eat shit Shane … house is haunted as hell. Brb gonna buy a hundred million candles for seance tonight. Be there or admit ghosts are real!"

Ryan hit send on the text and let out another whoop before dashing out of the kitchen. A moment later keys jingled and the front door slammed. 

The ghosts stood there blinking at each other. “...Odd bird, that one,” Banjo said finally. “Well, I s’pose that was easy enough. Good work, boys.”

“Thanks,” Night Night said, a little confusedly.

Banjo tipped the brim of his hat down over his eyes and rubbed his hands together. “Yes, I can see it now,” he mumbled. “Dark room full’a flickerin’ candles, cold night wind blowin’ outside, sittin’ on the floor graspin’ each other’s sweaty palms and lookin’ each other right in the eyes, just so… That's romance, that is.” He grinned. “Looks like our lil’ venture is off to a strong start.”

Holly sighed, shaking her head. “Something tells me this is going to go poorly,” she muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what history majors do and so I'm going to apologize for that in advance.


End file.
